


It Lights Up the Night

by dugindeep (hotsauce)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep
Summary: Written for Fall 2020SPN_Masqueradefor the prompt:Sam and Rowena have sex after a narrow escape from danger. Explore Sam's relationship to fear, survival, resignation, self-destruction, pleasure.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: SPN_Masquerade Fall 2020





	It Lights Up the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Season 10. Shades of dubcon, but in my head, Sam does really want this in the moment, then wonders if she's manufacturing it a bit to make it easier for him.
> 
> Title from Fleetwood Mac's Gypsy.

Rowena isn’t fast enough with the key. Sam’s whole body is rattling with fight _and_ flight and she’s fumbling with a damn key to the motel room.

He drops the knapsacks off his shoulder and pushes in front of her, keeping an eye over his shoulder for the witches who were hot on their tail.

She’d claimed they were recovering some of her old tomes. The coven, meanwhile, claimed the cellar was bound by the magic of 18th Century maidens, utterly unfit for a woman of her ilk.

With a smooth smile, Rowena’d offered, _Just a wee of misunderstanding, aye?_

Sam had aimed a look at Rowena that encapsulated everything in that moment – rage, fear, and his own disappointment for letting her trick him yet again.

He gives her the same look now when his hand covers hers and forces the key into the lock so they can tumble into the room, dragging the bags with him and putting a locked door between them and any incoming threats.

Rowena rattles off a spell and wards light up along the door, walls, and ceiling. Then she turns to him with a pert smile. “See now? All your fuss for no matter.”

“No matter?” Sam nearly shouts. The way she stands straight despite the foot and a half height difference, and how her eyes narrow at him, makes him take a deep breath to calm down a little. “Rowena, we’ve been doing these runs for the last four weeks and every time — _every single time_ — you get us into trouble.”

She rolls her eyes. “And I always get us out of it, don’t I?”

He huffs as he moves the bags over to the desk so he can unload them and figure out what exactly they have on their hands. Stolen or not, this is a treasure trove of items to add to the Bunker and he’s hoping they find the one thing he needs most right now. “That’s not the point.”

“There’s no one else here. The coven didn’t follow us all too far.” Rowena swipes at the green paisley bed cover before sitting at the edge of the mattress, daintily crossing one leg over the other knee. “What are you all twisted up for?”

“I’d just like …” Sam sighs, shoving a bag to the wall and closing his eyes. His heart races loud and heavy in his ears and his fingers are shaking. When he lifts one hand, the whole thing rattles. He brings the other up next to it and it’s doing the same thing.

His sight fades out and all he sees is his pulse jumping from his wrist, vein ballooning out with a fierce _THUMP THUMP ... THUMP THUMP ... THUMPTHUMPTHUMP_ the longer he stares at it. His pulse hurries to an impossibly quick speed until Sam holds his breath and it stops on a dime. He hears nothing but fuzzy silence, a subtle wind whistling in his ears, and scars etch into his forearm in the shape of the Mark.

He stumbles back into the chair and when he looks up to the mirror over the desk, he’s facing Dean’s reflection.

Only, it’s not really Dean. It’s the shape and the presence, but the eyes are pitch black and Sam knows it’s his own conscience fucking him up.

He needs a real meal and a good night’s sleep and maybe a stretch of road where it’s just him and his brother without a trouble ahead of them. Instead, Sam’s running himself ragged, affiliating with _Rowena_ , and – making matters worse – hiding it all from Dean, even when he’s the very person Sam is trying to save.

“Sam?”

A gentle touch at his arm shakes him out of it. He blinks at his own reflection now, haggard and ghostly, and when he rubs his face, so does the reflection. He’s assured to know that he’s back in this moment.

“Samuel?” Rowena asks, voice oddly comforting. Her touch, too, when she nudges him to sit at the desk chair.

“I’m okay,” he says with a put-upon smile. It’s jarring to have to look _up_ to her, but there she is staring down at him as he continues to pretend he didn’t just hallucinate his brother in this room, when they both know Dean is lying low in the bunker.

It’s been happening lately, these pockets of time where he gets lost in waking nightmares of never saving his brother under any conditions, let alone the Mark of Cain.

“You don’t sound okay,” she insists.

He waves her off when she touches the edge of his hair. “Don’t worry about it.”

She doesn’t seem to hear him because she makes a face and continues, “Or even look okay. In fact, you’re downright terrifying like this, Samuel.”

“Thanks.” He flits his eyebrows, but refocuses on the bags they’d lifted from the coven.

As he opens the closest bag and pulls out a book, Rowena gets to sifting through another. Probably hoping to find some other precious pieces to add to her collection when all Sam wants is the code breaker for the Book of the Damned so Rowena can finally find some kind of remedy for the Mark. And Sam can finally ditch the two-timing witch.

“Well, looky here,” Rowena hums as she pulls out a pretty gnarly-looking item from a bag on the floor. It seems like it’s been burnt over with a spike shoved into it. She runs a soft hand over the back side of it and smiles fondly. “Hello, beautiful.”

Sam snorts and when she shoots him a quick glare, he gestures at the item. “It looks like burnt organs.” He gets a little whiff of it as she fiddles with it. He coughs and glares at her, “Smells like it, too.”

“Oh, Samuel. You’re learning so quickly now.”

He sits up with wide eyes. “No … it’s not …”

“Aye, it is.” She holds it up to the pale lamp above the desk, as if he really cares to see all its nooks and crannies and identify what organ it is exactly. She tells him anyway, and quite proudly. “Bull’s heart pierced with a spike.”

Sam sighs. Of course.

“This here is a bit of counter-magic that mine enemies would be happy to get into their hands.”

“Counter-magic for what?”

Rowena eyes him, long black eyelashes fluttering when she starts to smile. “If I told ya … now well what’s the fun in that?”

Sam turns to face her more fully and feels something clench in his chest. It’s obvious she wasn’t on this quest tonight to help him retrieve these books, but instead to nab herself something even more powerful. “What do you need counter-magic for?”

“I don’t, is the thing.” With a flash, the bull’s heart is wrapped up in flames and the smell is even more atrocious than before. When there’s just ash left in Rowena’s hands, she makes a smart little noise and leans in to pour the ash into a coffee mug on the desk. “There now. We’re all better.”

“ _We_.”

“Well, mostly me,” she insists with a serene smile. “But with you here … then yes, it’s we. We are no longer under any danger.”

Sam’s heart picks up again, thundering in his neck and deep in his chest. His mind rages through all the worry and anger for being crossed by her … yet again. This has to be the last time. He’s done, so done working with her. He won’t give her an inch when she takes five whole miles. He’ll find the code on all his own, but not before he gives her a piece of his mind. “Before you did that?,” Sam complains. “We were under danger? I cannot believe you—”

“Well, with the life you lead, danger is right behind. Innit?”

“Rowena,” he roars as he rises, but she quickly pushes his shoulders down with surprising power and he’s stuck back in his chair. “No, listen—” He tries to stand again, but she forces him back in place. Damn witches.

“ _You_ listen here and now.” She sets her hands on her hips and gives off a strange kind of vibe that Sam finds himself cowering to. “You asked me to help you find the Tome of the Three Towers and I did that, now didn’t I?”

Sam keeps his mouth in a tight line as he glares at her. “Yes.”

“Right then. There’s no room for fuss over what else we find among our treasures, eh?”

“But Rowe—”

Again, she pushes at his shoulders when he tries to stand, now standing between his knees and coming in close to stare him in the eye. “That there bull’s heart is protection _against_ ye old witches. So long as it exists, and most of all in this here room, then my other protection isn’t worth much more than a bird’s feather.”

His mind runs wild on images of the coven coming to their hotel, bashing down the door, and wasting him and Rowena for stealing from them. Then it runs right on with Dean in the bunker, in his room, motionless and dead with two liquid black eyes staring sightless to the ceiling, and Sam continues down the path of what he’ll do to live the rest of his life – especially _this_ life, where his main priority is to sit shotgun to his brother – without a chance to save Dean if he’s trusting this witch right now.

As if proving his worry wrong, Rowena’s wards flash bright green for a solid three seconds before fading out to a low hue of green tinting the room. “Now you see, Sam? That precious little burnt organ was holding me back just a smidge.”

Sam takes the moment for relief, leaning back in the chair and counting through his labored breathing. His heart continues to pound fiercely against his ribs, but he can feel it slow second by second.

She strokes a finger over his temple. “What’s got you so worried now, hmm?”

Before he knows it, he’s leaning into her touch and letting his eyes slip shut. Just that split second of warmth eases him and he has only half a mind to wonder if it’s her doing. Or maybe he’s just dying for relief, even just a moment, a night, to not be so strung up about the Mark, and he shouldn’t question it.

Her palm settles over his cheek. “You are definitely not okay.”

She sounds … quiet, concerned even, and it further soothes him. Enough so that Sam opens his mouth and admits, “I don’t know if I can do this. If I can save Dean.” He opens his eyes to her standing impossibly close, hazel eyes taking up most of his sight. The greens and browns and greys swirl together and he’s not sure if he’s dreaming or lost in another hallucination. “And then what? My own brother?”

“Oh, Samuel,” she whispers sadly.

“What do I do then?”

Before he realizes it, she’s leaning in with both her palms framing his face. The tears that were building in his eyes melt away as her fingers comb back into his hair. His hands slide up the back of her legs, pulling the fabric of her skirt along with, and she whispers his name again.

It’s another haze for Sam, but not as dark or muddled as he’s used to. There’s a soft glow around them, the green wards seeming to rise to the occasion as her lips meet his and she moans into his mouth when he presses his tongue deep into her.

His heart surges again, thumping loud and deep, rumbling down his arms and through his fingers when they grip the back of her thighs. He heaves her up as he stands, and her form is light and agile to wrap her legs around his waist before he brings her down to the bed. The kiss only breaks so he can mouth down her jaw and behind her ear as her nails dig into the back of his neck.

“Oh, Samuel,” she hums, this time melodic with need and delight. Her body is fully covered by his, but she still slinks against him, pressing up to his groin.

Sam groans, thankful for relief, in any package at this moment – he’ll sort through the trouble of Rowena in the morning – and drags his hand down between the mattress and her back until he can slip under her ass and pull her in closer. His finger slinks even further and presses up through her skirt and between her legs.

With another hum, Rowena grabs his face and brings him back to kiss, her tongue up for the match of his as the kiss grows wet and heavy. She then yanks her skirt up to her waist and his fingers meet bare, warm skin just as she reaches between them to unbuckle his belt and get his pants open.

He shuffles his jeans and underwear down just enough for access then lines up and pushes right into her with her name coming out on a breathy sigh.

While she rings one arm over his neck, the other comes up to his mouth, fingers pressing over the seam as she shushes him. Then he hears her voice in his head, _no fuss, no muss_ , and she smiles radiantly as her hair spreads into a bright orange halo on the mattress as he takes her.

Sure, he wasn’t planning for dirty talk, or even anything dirty to happen between them, but he’s rather thankful for the boundary against speaking so he can just chase down this feeling of being buried inside her heat with no other complications.

He slides out then right back in and picks up a quick speed that she handily meets with every hitch of her hips. Sam gets quick and hard as he fucks her, smiling when the headboard bangs at the wall and her mouth falls open on quick punches of whimpered breaths.

He watches her face blush and her throat work through every stroke he gives her and he reconciles all the fear and anger of working with a witch – _this_ witch – as a devil-you-know kind of arrangement. Hell, if it’s going to lead to this kind of stress relief, then maybe he’s not ready to give up on her just yet.

Her voice rings in his head again, saying his name over and over all angelic and airy, and he smiles at her as he slides a hand between them and plays with her as he keeps pounding her into the mattress.

When she comes, the room hums in shades of green, the wards sparkling across every surface and Sam isn’t far behind with the rush of protection filling the space around them.

Like a warm wave washing over him, Sam feels tension ebb away and he huffs into Rowena’s neck. Her fingers play at the edges of his hair, ghosting over his neck and sending tiny shocks down his spine.

They haven’t even separated yet, but his mind flashes with images of them working together in due time and he isn’t sure if it’s his own conscious weighing the possibility or if everything since they stepped into this room was her doing and she’s reminding him that he still needs her help …

He rises to his elbows and watches her for a few moments before trying to ask, “Was that all you or—”

“Now, now, Samuel,” Rowena interrupts. She taps his lips on each word, “No fuss, no muss.”

Sam smiles a little unsteady, because that’s about where he is right now. He’ll figure this muss out later.


End file.
